The Right Kind of Wrong
by TheChimeraSculptress
Summary: The cure makes all of Marie's fantasies come true...


Summary: The cure makes all of Marie's fantasies come true.

* * *

As I passed his chair, making to leave the kitchen, Logan snatched hold of my wrist, pulling me back. "What's going on, kid?" His eyes glinted with desperation in the half-light as he stared up at me.

I tried to move my arm, protesting at the tightness of his hold, but he didn't release me. Secretly, however, I couldn't help but relish the skin on skin contact and the flurry of butterflies it awakened in the pit of my stomach. It was the first time Logan and I had touched since I got the cure. "I don't know what you mean," I croaked, my heart starting to race.

His eyes flicked down to where his hand was wrapped around me, as if he, too, was acknowledging the touch and was also affected by it. Finally, reluctantly it seemed, his gaze returned to my face again. "You know exactly what I mean. You've been avoiding me. I want to know why."

I was genuinely taken aback by his words. "I thought…I thought you'd want…_need_…some space. After what happened at Alkatraz…"

He looked hurt and I watched him swallow uncomfortably as he collected his thoughts. "You've got it all wrong, Marie," he revealed gently. "After Alkatraz…I need ya more than ever."

I gaped at him in surprise. "But…but after Jean…" I hesitated before adding, "you loved her, Logan. I know you did. And having to…" I stopped abruptly. I didn't think he'd appreciate the reminder that he had to kill her.

"Yeah," he confessed hoarsely. "I loved Jean. But that wasn't her." He shrugged. "Didn't take me long to realise it…just took me a while to accept it."

I sighed, confused. "Why are you telling me this, Logan?" I asked wearily. I felt so tired, both physically and mentally. Tired of loving him, tired of the pain I was battling as I grieved for our lost comrades, tired of having to justify my decision to have the cure to the whole fucking world.

He still wouldn't release me but his thumb began to caress my hand in a way that made my breath quicken.

He looked unsettled, the way he always did when he was about to open up, bare his soul, and I knew that he was going to tell me something significant. Something that was going to change our worlds. Maybe that something I had been yearning for so many years. My heart was thudding in my ears now and it annoyed me because I feared it would drown out those words I was so hoping to hear.

"Marie…" he started, his thumb continuing to stroke me tenderly. "These past few months…since Alkatraz…after all that happened…all I can think about is this." His eyes lowered to where he held me, where he was caressing me. "All I can think about is that you're touchable now." A dark shadow crossed his face. It might have been shame but Logan's emotions had always been difficult to decipher. "I should be grievin' for them…for Chuck, Jean, Scott…but…" His gaze met mine again. "All I can think about is you, kid."

My mind was a whirl. Elated that he wanted me yet suddenly angry at his timing.

"Why now?" I blurted. "Why only now when I'm finally touchable?"

He must have been expecting such a reaction because he offered me a wry smile. "My excuse is gone."

I frowned. "I don't understand."

He took a deep breath, composing himself, and my stomach performed a little flip. "I've wanted ya a long time, kid, but always felt it was wrong. Felt it was a good thing, ya skin, keeping' the big bad Wolverine away. For the best. Jean was a welcome distraction. I did love her…but not…not in the way…" he faltered but I already knew what he was going to say. My heart soared at the realisation.

It proved a struggle to hold back the giddy smile that was aching to break though. "You don't have to say it…if it's too difficult…" I knew how Logan was when it came to emotions. That he would rather face Sabretooth than reveal too much from inside. It didn't matter anyway. He had made his feelings perfectly clear and I had no desire to prolong his torment.

"I want to say it…" he snapped but his face immediately turned apologetic. "I need to say it…"

He glanced back down to where we touched, bringing his other arm across so that both his hands were now clasping mine. I braced myself, feeling as if I were lost in a beautiful dream. But after all the terrible things that had happened I felt that we were owed this.

"I love ya, Marie. I always have. An' now you're touchable I can't bare the thought of anyone else touchin' ya." His eyes flared dangerously, burning into mine, branding me, claiming me. "I can't - won't - share ya anymore."

My insides turned molten at the power - the demand - of his tone, and my throat was aflame with anticipation. "I'm all yours, Logan," I whispered shakily. "I always have been."

In one swift movement he had risen from his chair, pulled me around, and slammed me back against the fridge. I never even had time to gasp.

"Say that again," he growled, caging me in his arms, his eyes dark and feral in the half-light.

"I'm all yours," I repeated huskily, my Southern drawl accentuated by my mounting desire, and I had barely finished the sentence when he quickly moved in to claim my mouth, his warm lips sweeping across mine teasingly before hungrily demanding deeper access. Access I willingly surrendered as I groaned beneath him, totally overwhelmed, but returning his ardour in equal measure.

When we finally, regretfully, moved away from one another, both finding it a challenge to regulate our laboured breathing, a thought suddenly came to me.

"The right kind of wrong," I announced softly, as his hand reached across to run down the platinum lock of my hair.

He raised an eyebrow and flashed me the most endearing of puzzled looks.

"You felt we were wrong but I think we're the right kind of wrong."

His confused look remained and in all honesty,_ I_ wasn't entirely sure what I meant. Not exactly. It just _sounded_ right.

"Kinda," I eventually added with a sheepish smile.

He returned the grin, although his was decidedly more wolfish. "Whatever ya say, darlin'."

I knew he was only humouring me but as he began to devour my neck with that irresistibly hot mouth of his, all thoughts of chastising him lustily melted away.

Besides, he had the right idea.

Less words, more action!


End file.
